


Waxing Poetic

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Writers Month: August 2019 [16]
Category: Tombstone (1993)
Genre: Consumption, Crushes, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Poetry, Singing, gunslinger, voices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 16:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: She had fallen for his voice. His timbre, the rhyme of his land.Writersmonth Day 18 Prompt:Poetry





	Waxing Poetic

She had fallen for his voice. His timbre, the rhyme of his land, his accent, the way his tone dropped every time he spoke to her with such grace and sophistication.

When they had first met, he was oh so sure of himself, waxing poetic and wooing her with his southern charm. She came from an unexplored land so, it would take her a moment to detangle his drawl but, the words just flowed so smoothly, she was swept off of her feet along with them.

Sometimes he’d cough. His smooth, silky sound forgotten by the abrupt, harsh noise. In those moments she’s be snapped back from her daze with worry, a genuine concern. The sound was wet, raw, unlike anything she had ever heard. How a man of such a poised stature could belt out such a haunting note, was far beyond her.

But then it would stop. His own little death would be over and he would’ve wiped his lips. Wiped the chilling cough from his lips, having torn it from deep within his throat. He’d go back to wooing her with fancy words, rhymes of what he wanted to do to her, how fair a maiden she was.

How she was the anti-Christ.

They’d known each other long enough by now, she’d come and gone, swept in an out in a whirlwind. His coughing fits grew stronger, more distinct. He couldn’t hide them anymore. He still sang with his tantalising tone, spinning rhymes of the South, all for the lady satan who was his.

His voice had weakened, to the few whispered words that were haunted by the gasps of air that he couldn’t bare to take. His poetry lessened, he couldn’t recite such complexities on a grand scale. She missed it, she couldn’t deny. But she treasured the little conversations they could have for, he’d never go mute. The both of them loved his silken voice for it to ever fail completely. He was too determined, he wouldn’t let it.

Maybe he couldn’t wax poetic like he had in the early days of their courtship before, he took to the bottle to churn up his insides, his rasps and gasps. Before she left, then returned, and ran again. Before she’d leave for months on end and he’d be seducing others with just his breaths. The breaths were growing shaky but, he no longer did wax poetic to any other woman.

Kate was his. For how long neither were sure but, for the moment, he kept breathing for her. Neither would let those chilling breaths falter.


End file.
